The Crossing by Mandy Hager Page B

rustle of clothes. And sensed someone leaning over her as the light before her eyelids dulled. “It's all right, Sister Maryam, nothing to fear.” The voice was male, breathy as the wind through palm fronds.
    She tried to speak, to question him, but her mouth, like her eyelids, ignored the urgent messages shouted in her brain. Where was she, and who was this person? Fear rose in her: she was helpless and alone with a strange man.
    A warm hand patted her arm. “I'm Hushai, Sister Maryam. Please do not be afraid.” She heard him move away from her, then the sound of pouring water. He returned, placing a warm cloth over her eyes and gently wiping there. She felt her eyes ease beneath the warmth. Slowly she blinked them open, but the light seared like hot charcoals in her already pounding head. She cried out, an animal sound bereft of words, and an age-wrecked Island face suddenly hovered in her line of sight—unfocused through the stream of her tears.
    â€œTry to sip a little of this water, it will help.” He held a cup to Maryam's lips, gently lifting her head a little so she could swallow.
    The water eased the burning in her throat enough for her to whisper, “What happened?”
    Hushai patted her arm again. “The sacred anga kerea toddy you drank from the chalice—it has powerful charms.”
    So it was the drink. Maryam blinked and tried to focus on the man who spoke. He was quite the oldest person she had seen, the lines upon his face as marked and rugged as the bands of weed that tiered the beach after a storm. And his eyes, which seemed to look down on her so kindly, were as milky as those of a long dead fish. Could he even see her?
    It was as if he read her mind. “The good Lord long ago removed my sight. But He has not left me blind, oh no—He gifts me with the power to sense what others see.” Again he offered her the cup, and this time the water flowed more freely down her throat.
    While her head was tilted up to drink she looked around her. She was in some new place—a small white enclosure with rows of glass-doored cupboards and well stocked shelves.
    â€œThis is our hospital,” Hushai said.
    â€œHos-pi-tal? What is that?”
    He chuckled. “Sorry, little Sister. I forgot that there is much you do not know. This is the place for healing, where those who need it are cared for and eased.” He laid her head back down tenderly and wiped a small dribble of water from her chin. Something like a sudden sea squall rippled out across his ancient face. “It is potent stuff you drank. Not good. Refuse it whenever possible—or do not drink the full amount.”
    â€œBut Father Joshua…” She bit back the other words. Questioning the great Apostle's reasons for plying the drink was foolishness. Had he not warned her that he, along with theLord, knew and saw all? Besides, she did not know this Hushai. The best response, she guessed, was silence.
    She sighed, her head so full of questions and confusion that it throbbed all the more. The old man laid the cooled cloth across her forehead. “This should help to dull the pain.”
    Again she felt as though he read her thoughts, and she tried to block the dangerous doubts and questions from her mind. He smiled down at her, taking each of her hands into his own. The gesture was so kindly done she did not shy away from his touch.
    He leaned in toward her, until he was so close she could hear his breath. “There is something in you, Sister, that shines past the haze that blinds me. Look into my eyes and just relax—show me what is in your heart.”
    She stared up, unsure what it was he wanted from her. But she felt compelled, her heart speeding. The old man's eyes looked as though a cloud had crossed the sun; a strange light still seemed to emit some warmth. How terrible, she thought, to lose the gift of sight. To never see the sun set coral pink against a glassy sea, or the